Checkered Boardgame
by storys217ph
Summary: A short story from Hermione's perspective.


Does she agree? Does she not bother contradicting me? So I continue. "Being just a child and yet to know the world, I could point the cause of my confusion, but that which I regarded as myself is no longer present in the matter. All is matter is a putrid puddle, ever-altering, contorting as one indistinguishable mass. And what am I if not just some of all this, all there is?"

"Aha…" Pansy drawls leaning on her elbow, which seems enough to keep me going.

"Permanence is lost in this immeasurable flow, never even there, even harder to imagine with this war happening. I plan to skip on the experience, so when sequentially the ground is plenty soaked, I may be here to see all aspirations set to detonate in supernova or some such due date. It's all inevitably pointless from the start."

"Unless you imagine the significance…" She suggests, now fiddling with the shutters.

"Like somebody watching?" I reciprocate her smirk. "Or anything else you can conjure up is the only purpose you will find here. Everything is as you deem it and the purpose is your very judgement. We're not making anything here but satisfying ourselves, curiosity if nothing dire."

She tilts one of the blinds. A beam of dim grey light pours in with the sound of thunder. "Did you notice how precious light is? Makes you feel so special, but amongst all this darkness…"

"Pansy, are you listening?"

"Are you?!"

She has a point. I put my elbow on my knee and run my fingers trough my messy hair. I flip around to my teacup, hers is untouched and mine is bitter. I stroke the ear of my cup thinking perhaps today I made it wrong.

I hear distinctive footsteps and feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn half-way around to gaze up at Pansy wondering.

"Granger, I think we should stop this. Whatever it was, it's gotten tiring."

"Our conversations…? Our mutual therapy?" I suggest with an unrequited smirk. Unwillingly I make my expression to match hers. "I think we're useful to each other."

"I think we where."

I should have known, she said look at the time last time. I pretend unaffected though the words stung. I can't think of a response and she disappears behind closed doors.

The room is small and dark, pleasantly lighted she would say. I can see only the contours of objects, windows, doors, all sealed shut in circle round this tower room with black & white checkered floor.

I stare blankly down realizing the tile pattern matches the one of a chessboard. I wonder if the design was intentional, if anyone ever sat down here and played a game. My mind is easily distracted. "Look at the time." I whisper to myself though I can tell it's late without a clock.

I'm back alone the next week. I'm missing my reflection in her eyes, the only likable reflection of this mask I wear. I never cared about truth or justice, but to shift the subjective perceptions of those around me, and thus my own, a selfish thing.

I miss the sound of her voice though we disagree. She contradicts herself than calls it a paradox. Perhaps if every subjective perception is true, there is no real truth. Could both statements be true? I should get out of here, life is easier to discern.

I pour back into the crowd, into my mould and the pointless chatter of poisonous ideas. I hate the fact that I need this substance, for what would be the opposite if I had nothing to compare it to? What would life be if it where different, if love existed and she loved me? Everything must be nothing appearing as something in this imaginary universe. The world must be mechanical, concealed by all the convoluted correlations lost to my visage. There's too many springs and gears in the chain by now and so I'm left with this illusion, a choice that burdens me. So what to do with it?

I reached out to Pansy in a form of a note. I wouldn't know if she'd heed my call until the very date and time, right now. It's never anything but now, what occurred or has that possibility is all within the current.

I flip around on the bench and lean back on the table as she steps into the room. She walks slowly and cautiously, keeping her eyes on me. I enjoy seeing her unreadable expression, it's a mystery. Words escape me as she draws my knees together and sits on my thighs.

"Pan…"

She places a finger over my lips and her arm around my neck. Something is different. Her lips seem darker in the dark and just before they draw closer. She takes my upper lip between hers and smears the black lipstick over my lips and cheek as she pulls away.

It feels like tar, like I'll never be rid of it. Even if I tried to scrape it off my skin it'd seep into the bone.

I feel dizzy, like I couldn't stand. She helps me up on to the table and lays me down holding my hand. Her fingers between mine feel comforting as I sink deeper.

It feels like nothing, and nothing I've ever known. The sounds become quieter and silence louder, like the world is coming together or collapsing, beginning or ending, I can't tell.

The only light I see is reflected in her eyes. She was right. It is worth a lot to me, the most before eyes shut.

THE END


End file.
